by Ryk E. Spoor
It was even worse than that anyway, now that I thought about it. Inga was a healthy boy. I was an asthmatic middle-aged man, even if I was in a lot better shape than I used to be. If I got a whiff of that superheated air, I might go down like a pole-axed steer. I sure wouldn’t be very functional. Even if I did somehow get a bunch of stepping stones set up across the fire, I might never get across.
Still, there had to be some way to solve this. I wondered if I could use the body of the ogre some way, but I didn’t see how. He wasn’t nearly large enough to do much more than make a grease spot in that inferno.
Something about that nagged at me, though. I replayed that quick, brutal fight in my mind again, wincing once more at the finale…but that was the point my subconscious was nagging about. What was it…?
The shockwave.
My anti-magical nature could be extended and directed to some degree; I’d demonstrated that in my battle against Poly and Iris, and other practice I’d done confirmed it. If I was right about the fire’s essence, I just might have a solution. That just might also end up killing me, but in what would at least be a more interesting fashion.
I backed up in the corridor and hyperventilated. I wanted to be able to hold my breath and take no chances when I got near that pit of flame. After a few moments, I took a deep breath and held it, then advanced.
The heat struck almost like a physical thing. I wavered at the edge, nerving myself up for the test. If I was wrong, I might cripple myself. Gritting my teeth, I shot my hand out and grabbed one of the coals.
Instantly the coal went black — as had much of the hair on the back of my arm, from rising heat. My breath whooshed out in relief, and I just barely caught myself in time, before I breathed in a whole lungful of that incredible heat. I backed away fast, returning to the corridor.
The fire was magical — almost purely magical — in nature. That gave me one chance… if I could pull it off.
I hyperventilated again and took a deep breath. This time, as I approached the edge, I focused on myself opposing magic, directing my will and force in a very specific way. As I reached the pit, I drew back my fist and then punched down and outward as hard as I could.
The punch slammed into the mass of coals like a heavy boot stamping down into a few inches of new-fallen snow. A shockwave of True Mortal antimagic kicked the coals aside like dust in a hurricane, rippling outward, shoving other coals backward, leaving a twelve-foot clear oval extending from my slightly-scorched fist.
I kept enough presence of mind to back off before I gave vent to a triumphant whoop. “That’s the way you do it!”
This process was going to take a while; I had to wait for the stone to cool at least some before I could move farther out and clear another area. But there was no sign of anything trying to undo what I’d done, so I was determined to take the time and do it right.
It took three hours, near as I could guess, before I had a wide path cleared through the three-foot-deep bed of magical coals, and there were some scorchmarks on my boots before it was done. But finally, after waiting another half-hour, I took a deep breath and sprinted the seventy-five feet across, not risking another breath until I was well into the far cavern.
I walked a short distance and this time found that the corridor ended in a plain, ordinary door. I shrugged and opened it.
Before me was the Nome King’s throne room; King Kaliko glanced up from a chessboard as the door opened, and his eyes widened. Ruggedo, seated across from his former Chamberlain, chuckled. “Ho, Erik Medon, you have kept us waiting. But perhaps you would care to join us for lunch?”
Chapter 36.
I grinned at Ruggedo. “Don’t mind if I do. But,” I became aware of a tightness on my face and arms, and of other sensations previously ignored, “I think I need to freshen up a bit. Your Majesty, do you…?”
Kaliko, surveying me with a tactician’s appraising gaze, nodded and gestured with his scepter; one of the many doors about the room opened. Crossing to it, I found a short corridor ending in a quite large bathroom. I closed the door and went first to the sink; a polished sheet of silver or platinum served as an excellent mirror. In it, I saw myself; reddened skin, some small scorches and blisters, black soot covering much of my face as well as my hands and arms, smudges all over my clothes — as well as traces of green-black blood from the ogre and cuts and scrapes from my rock-climbing escapade.
I washed up carefully, trying to blot the worst of the mess from my clothes as well as clean my skin. I winced as the water and soap hit the burns. This might stay with me for a bit. I noticed there was a small tub of something that looked like Vaseline; I sniffed at it, touched it; it wasn’t quite the same but there was a similarity. For all I knew, it was the Nome equivalent of hair conditioner or skin softener and I hate oily sensations anyway. I decided to tough it out. After using the other facilities, I felt more human, and very hungry (and so thirsty I’d also taken a drink from the sink faucet while I was washing up).
Emerging back into the throne room, I saw a third chair had been placed and the table was significantly larger, with a large luncheon and a huge pitcher of water in front of the place set for me. I went over and sat down, pouring myself a glass right away as I surveyed the food. “I’ve had a busy morning.”
“You take it with good humor,” Kaliko observed. “You could have been killed.”
I shrugged. “You wouldn’t have gotten anything out of your tests if there wasn’t either actual urgency, or a convincing sense of urgency, in them. I knew what I was getting into when I came here.”
Kaliko nodded slowly. “I suppose you did. Iris Mirabilis chose you well.”
I chuckled. “Between us, your Majesty, Iris did not do the choosing; that was done by the Prophecy.”
“Hm!” He considered that, as I bit into a sandwich I’d assembled from the assorted materials in front of me — sort of a roast beef sub, though I wasn’t sure the meat was roast beef. “If true, that constitutes an additional point in your favor; a specified Hero has great weight of the Above behind him, even if the Prophecy is not entirely guaranteed.”
“It’s quite true.” I quoted the relevant pieces of the Prophecy to him; the parts of the Prophecy which were long past should be pretty much harmless, and he wasn’t likely to communicate anything to Ugu and Amanita anyway.
Kaliko contemplated that, and answered a move by Ruggedo, who had been waiting for several minutes. He then looked sour as Ruggedo moved instantly. “Check, old friend.”
“And you fulfilled all of those conditions? Impressive, especially showing the Daughter of the Rainbow a beauty that would strike her heart.” Kaliko surveyed the chessboard again, looking suspiciously at Ruggedo, who was smiling with perhaps a bit too much self-satisfied complacency.
I shrugged. “More a matter of realizing that Polychrome had certain limits that told me that there were some things she almost certainly could never have seen.”
“I see.” Kaliko brought his queen across the board, blocking the check. Ruggedo began to reach out, then gave a surprised snort of his own as he realized the move had produced a situation where moving the piece he wanted to would put his king in check. “You are a man of quick thought and ready improvisation, I see.”
“That’s probably a good way to put it. I do sort of long-term general plans, but,” I gestured at the board, “I’m terrible at detailed long-term strategy like that. I play by instinct, so I’d probably lose fast to you guys in that kind of thing.” I poured myself a glass of what seemed to be fresh orange juice; I wondered how that was being managed here in the middle of the almost-sterile wasteland of the Nome Kingdom.
“Still, not a poor choice of emissary. Long-term plans against the Usurpers would require in-depth knowledge of their capabilities, which you lack and even I do not have to any great extent, and you will undoubtedly have to determine your actions at least partially in an ad hoc fashion.” Kaliko’s brows came together as Ruggedo finally made a move. “I trust you do
have some general plan or method for defeating the Usurpers?”
“I do. Though I’m giving no one any details who doesn’t need to know and — no offense — you don’t need to know, especially since I have yet to hear whether you’re going to help us or not.”
“Hmmm. Fair enough, and true, I have not yet spoken on that matter.” He glared across the board at his old King. “Ruggedo, I distinctly recall that I used to have to let you win most of our old games!”
The jolly laugh that emphasized the old Nome’s resemblance to Santa Claus rolled out, echoing through the throne room. “I have no doubt of it, no doubt of it at all, old friend. But I have had quite some centuries of time to learn many things, and not all of it was spent swinging a weapon.”
“So it would seem.” Kaliko sighed, smiled, and knocked over his king, ceding the game. “To my surprise, I am quite enjoying your visit, Ruggedo; perhaps I might relax your exile.”
“That would be most generous of you, old friend.”
He turned back to me. “As to the matter of assisting you…You ran the gantlet quite handily, solving the challenges with — I will acknowledge — an excellent combination of foresight, inspiration, and clear, controlled force. I have no objection, therefore, to fulfilling your first request. I have in fact already given the orders, and I believe you will find your new armor and weapons to be far superior in all ways — save, perhaps, in beauty, for though my people are masters of the forge we admit that in the creation of beauty we cannot surpass the Rainbow Kingdom.
“Your second, and far more weighty request, however,” he continued, “I still find myself reluctant to grant. Aside from the one ill-conceived adventure of my predecessor,” he glanced at Ruggedo, who gave a rueful grin, “the Nome Army has never been truly at war, only a standing and impressive threat against any who would seek to take our homeland. You ask for me to send much, perhaps most, of our forces to another land into a battle against tremendous powers.” He looked up. “Assuming indeed that you can bring them thence at all.”
My answering grin held challenge in it. “I assure you, we can. Iris Mirabilis and I already have the answer to the Desert and the Barrier.”
“So. Even granting that, I am not naïve nor uninformed; the powers the Usurpers have assembled are tremendously greater individually than my Nomes, and even with my war engines and Iris Mirabilis’ own forces, I am unconvinced that the battle can be made an even one.”
He had a point. Part of the problem was that — in the end analysis — it didn’t matter if his and Iris’ forces couldn’t, by themselves, defeat Ugu and Amanita’s army. I was going to be the key to that, and in fact at least some level of defeat was going to be necessary to get me put in the position to trigger the rest of the Prophecy. However, his forces would be needed to make the invasion a really credible one, and — if I failed — to give at least some hope of victory against the Usurpers.
And I didn’t really want to tell him that, because the fact that I was going to basically end up a sacrificial lamb was the key secret of our entire attack. “Maybe it can’t. But King Kaliko, you’ve watched them, as best you can. I really don’t think you can look me in the eye and tell me you believe that they’ll just leave you alone. They may leave you to the last, but they’ll come for you in the end. And by that point, even if you’ve spent a few more centuries building up your army against them, there’ll be no one else to help you, and they’ll grind you into dust eventually by sheer weight of numbers — assuming neither of them comes up with some equivalent of a doomsday machine to blow your whole kingdom to hell.” I didn’t doubt that Ugu and/or Amanita could eventually invent a magical equivalent of a nuke if they had to. “You’re never going to get a better chance than you’ll have right now, with me and the Prophecy and, maybe more importantly, the forces of the Rainbow Kingdom to work with you and back you up.”
Kaliko stood, pacing for a few moments, before he finally ascended the steps and sat in his throne. “Your words hold considerable truth, and I have thought on these very facts — for most of the last night, in fact.
“And you passed my tests, and argue your case persuasively. Still, I am aware that some version, garbled though it may have been, of my little testing gantlet must have made it through to the Mortal World, and unless I miss my guess you have quite some knowledge of those writings. So in at least some wise you may have benefited from significant foreknowledge.” He held up his hand to prevent me from speaking. “This is not meant to belittle your success. It was clear that whether you had foreknowledge or not, you faced and resolved the challenges in an efficient manner and without using anything which I could rightfully categorize as ‘cheating.’” He turned his throne, which appeared to be mounted on a concealed pivot like my erstwhile room, to face a different wall. “Still, the true mettle of an adversary is to be seen when they are confronted by unforeseen challenges and choices.” He gestured with his staff at the wall.
A large section of the stone became transparent as glass, showing that it was actually a set of double doors, now allowing us to look into a circular room with an enclosed, sealed cylindrical chamber within. And inside that chamber was Zenga.
The Princess of Pingaree was seated on the stone floor, chains on her ankles and wrists. She didn’t appear harmed, and seemed both bored and annoyed.
Apparently the transparency was two-way, because she suddenly glanced up. “Lord Erik!”
“Zenga!” I turned to Kaliko. “What the hell are you up to?”
“As I told your friend,” Kaliko answered, “This is a test for you. Though I have not told her the exact nature of the test until now.”
The King of the Nomes touched a jewel on his throne, and with a low, throbbing hum that vibrated the floor, the ceiling of the chamber Zenga was in slowly began to descend. “Here I present you with both a test and a choice. If you simply agree to leave with your armor and weapons, but ask no more of me, I shall stop this device and release her, and after a week or so of pleasant relaxation here you will leave, with the equipment you sought, thus better off than when you came.
“Or you may attempt to rescue her. But make no mistake, Erik Medon; that is what you might call a hydraulic ram. While materials in its construction have been made by magic, little magic is in the actual device itself. It is more powerful than any such device your people have ever made; thousands upon thousands of tons of force can be exerted on whatever lies within that room.
“And if you choose to rescue her, the die will be cast. You must either succeed… or watch her be crushed into nothingness.”
Ruggedo looked darkly at Kaliko. “You have become hard indeed, old friend.”
Kaliko met Ruggedo’s gaze impassively. “These are perilous times, Ruggedo. I dare risk no more without a test equally perilous.”
I stared at Zenga, who stared back at me, then glanced up, looking at the polished metal descending towards her. I turned to Kaliko. “I cannot leave without your backing, your Majesty.”
He sighed. “So be it.” He turned another gem. “The trap is set, the process cannot be reversed or stopped now. The cycle must complete…or you must stop it. So, Erik Medon, Hero of Prophecy, what will you do to rescue your companion in the — perhaps — ten minutes that remain to her?”
I grinned slowly, broadly. “Nothing,” I said casually.
I saw both Ruggedo’s and Kaliko’s jaws drop. “What?” Kaliko managed finally. “You will sacrifice her to…to what? Make some point to me about ruthlessness? What –”
“I will do nothing because I need to do nothing.” I looked at Zenga, smiling confidently. “She doesn’t need my help to save her.”
She stared at me, eyes wide in understanding. “You…you knew?”
“Of course I knew, Zenga. For it was said: in rejecting wisdom, he will gain strength.” I smiled even more broadly as she started to stand. “Now show them what a Princess of Pingaree can do.”
Kaliko whirled. “PINGAREE?” Realization was written i
n shock across his face. “Oh, no.”
“Oh, yes.”
Zenga stood up and placed both hands above her on the polished steel…and pushed.
The subliminal hum turned to a groan of strained levers, valves suddenly finding themselves feeding a pressure that mounted, ever higher. My eyes went to the bracelets on her arms, found one, the one I’d noted when she first joined me, with a centerpiece of a huge smoky-blue Pearl.
It was a battle of two Faerie realms now, the power of the Nome engineers and their magical machines against the supernal might of the Blue Pearl of Strength, the second of the Three Pearls the Sea Faeries had gifted to the rulers of Pingaree.
Now the smile was on Zenga’s face, a sharp and savage grin. Her arms went taut, her whole body rigid, and I could see the muscles standing out on her shoulders, her biceps, her legs, muscles smooth and perfectly sculpted from a warrior’s training, her eyes shining with the elation of this single moment. The descent of the huge ceiling slowed, stopped, as delicate veins began to stand out on her temples, and she bared her teeth wider in a smile that was half-snarl. Then she gave a low growl and shoved.
That hydraulic ram — built to crush anything ever made with millions of pounds of force — backed up. Underfoot there was a screaming and the floor rocked, distant echoes of thunder rumbling down the corridors and through the Kingdom of the Nomes as — somewhere below — steam and water engines, magically powered, overloaded, exploded with backpressures never imagined even by their engineers. A warrior’s joy at the power in her hands transfigured Zenga, and for a moment I couldn’t take my eyes off her; she was for that instant nearly as beautiful as Polychrome, but in a wild and untamed way that made the breath catch in my throat.
The ram suddenly split in the center and jammed, motive force fading and material no longer up to the impossible stress. Zenga dropped her arms and stepped forward, shackles snapping as though made of cobweb, drew back her fist and shattered the transparent enclosure with a single punch, scarcely pausing in her stride to the huge doors that were the only thing now separating her from the Throne Room. Her delicate coffee-colored fingers found the seam of the doors, jammed themselves in, and both arms pulled… and with a screaming moan of tortured metal, the doors flew open, half torn from their hinges.
